Stolen Kisses

by Suzanne Enoch

  His Grace remained awkwardly beside the table, obviously trying to decide whether the slight was worth beginning another shouting match or not. “Ah,” he finally said, then cleared his throat. “Very good.”

  “You’ve got brass, Dansbury,” Price murmured, as the duke turned and walked away.

  “It was a bloody good vintage,” Jack returned with a scowl, motioning for the dealer to proceed.

  Chapter 5

  “I truly don’t mind going to the breakfast, Papa.” Lilith leaned against the door of her father’s bed chamber while he finished his morning’s toilette. She had already dressed, hoping he would give in and let her go to Billington’s. It was one of the few events this Season she’d actually been looking forward to attending. The breakfasts were famous, and the duke held them only once a Season. Everyone who was anyone was supposed to be there.

  She wondered if the Marquis of Dansbury would have managed to get himself invited to such a prestigious event, then determinedly cast the thought aside. Undoubtedly he hadn’t even returned yet from his evening’s rambles, and if there was one thing she knew about Billington’s breakfasts, it was that no bad ton were invited. Ever. If William had begun his association with Dansbury a few weeks earlier, no doubt he would have found himself excluded, as well.

  “Nonsense, Lilith,” the viscount said over his shoulder, while his valet put the final touches on his cravat for him. “There’s no need for you to be tiring yourself out. Especially with the Rochmont ball this evening. Your aunt and I, and William, if he manages to stay awake through the meal, will make your excuses.”

  Lilith sighed and fiddled with the pearl earring pinching her right ear. “All right.” She hesitated again. “And Papa, I do hope you understand my feelings about His Grace. I simply cannot marry such a…dreadful man. As I said last night, I will happily wed anyone else you see fit to choose. I apol—”

  He waved her off with one hand, picking up his gloves with the other. “I heard you last night. Wenford is a highly respected man, and a joining of our families would have put us above reproach. But you, fickle girl, decide he has too many gray hairs on his head, and you won’t have him.”

  “That’s not it, Papa. Truly.”

  “Bah. With all those pretty words that’ve been whispered in your ear by every eligible lord in London, I’ve no doubt you have your handsome fool all picked out for yourself. Who is he, Lilith, some baron’s third son?”

  The accusation surprised her, for of course, no one had captured her heart. She hadn’t been looking to find love. “There is no one. Papa.” He continued to look at her suspiciously, and she put a hand on his arm. “I won’t shame you.”

  He turned his back. “That’s what your mother used to say,” he muttered. “Those green eyes of hers held nothing but lies.”

  “I’m not Mama.”

  “I keep praying my blood will be stronger in you than hers. William’s already falling into her flighty ways.”

  Although Lilith disliked the pain that showed in her father’s eyes whenever he spoke of Elizabeth Benton, she did wish sometimes that he would remember that he wasn’t the only one who had been hurt by Lady Hamble’s flight. “You’ll see, Papa,” she said encouragingly “I’ll make you proud of me. Of our family.”

  He leaned over to touch his lips to her forehead. “I know you will. And don’t trouble yourself about Wenford. I’m certain everything will work itself out.”

  Lilith smiled in relief. It generally took him ages to recover from the foul mood any discussion of her mother put him into. “Thank you.”

  William, still half foxed from whatever he and the Marquis of Dansbury had been up to last night, would have been more than happy to trade places with her, but it was clear that their father had no intention of letting him escape. Aunt Eugenia seemed none too pleased that Lilith was to remain, either, but when her father insisted that the girl needed her rest, the arguing finally stopped and Bevins let them out the front entry.

  Once they were gone, Lilith wandered about the house for a few minutes, reveling in the quiet, for Wednesday was the day most of the servants were given leave to go about their own business. She headed outside to cut a bouquet of Lord Penzance roses from the garden. As she later arranged the flowers in the hall, someone began rapping at the front door.

  It was too early for visitors, and she frowned as Bevins appeared to pull open the door. The Duke of Wenford pushed past the butler without so much as a by-your-leave. Lilith stifled a dismayed curse and turned to make her escape, but he spied her immediately.

  “Lilith,” he rasped, coming forward to take her hand and kiss her knuckles.

  It was the greatest show of affection he had ever granted her, and because of what it implied, it was also the most frightening. “Your Grace,” she exclaimed, forcing a smile and quickly pulling her hand free.

  He was still in his evening clothes, the diamond pin back through the withered cravat hanging about his cadaverous neck. He or Dolph Remdale must have paid Dansbury the money he had so rudely requested.

  “I require a word with you,” the duke said, reeling as he reached for her hand again. His usually pale complexion was flushed and clammy looking, and Lilith realized that he was drunk. Very drunk. And whatever he’d been imbibing didn’t look to have agreed with his constitution, though it had apparently served to render him more amiable than she had ever before seen him.

  “Of course, Your Grace. Except I’m not actually entertaining this morning.” It was also far too early to go calling; if this was a proposal, as she feared it must be, Wenford’s timing was inexcusable—for anyone but Wenford.

  “This is not entertainment,” he returned, reaching for her again. “This is business.”

  Lilith sidestepped. “Allow me to fetch my maid, then.” She gestured the duke toward the morning room, but when she glanced over her shoulder, he was following close behind her. “If Your Grace would care to wait?” she suggested, nervous and irritated.

  “Your father is at Billington’s,” he stated.

  Lilith leaned up the staircase and called for Emily, but there was no answer. “I’m certain he’ll be back shortly,” she offered stiffly. She’d forgotten; Emily would be at her cousin’s house for the day, visiting.

  “Oh, I doubt that,” Wenford grunted. “Billington’s breakfasts are splendid.”

  “Then don’t you wish to partake?” Lilith suggested hopefully.

  “Stomach’s rather spoiled this morning.” He captured her hand again. “Besides, I wish to partake of you.” He tugged her closer. “A little premarital bliss.” Before she could react, he planted a stale, fetid kiss on her lips.

  His breath reeked of liquor and laudanum. “Your Grace!” Lilith frantically pulled free and ducked into the library.

  There was no sign of Mrs. Winpole, the housekeeper, or any other female in the entire house. She was on her own. Nearly running, Lilith crossed through the library and into the morning room. Wenford trailed behind her mumbling incoherent snatches of poems, no doubt his version of wooing.

  “You know my late wives died without giving me offspring, and a beautiful female of such well-bred stock as you should get me a fine, strapping boy or two.”

  Lilith felt ill. To be married to the man—to have him kiss her whenever he wished and to share a bed with him…“Your Grace, I believe you should first speak to my father again,” she said cautiously, not wanting to anger him if she could avoid it.

  “Don’t tell me what to do, girl,” he said, immediately annoyed again. “I know there are matters yet to settle. And I’ll speak to Canterbury to get us a special license. No sense in putting off a wedding for no damned good reason.”

  This was growing worse and worse. “Well, that’s splendid, but—”

  “I must consider the good of the realm. If I were to pass on to glory without heirs, you have no idea what chaos England would be thrown into! No successor to the Dukedom of Wenford? I shudder to consider it.”

  L
ilith shuddered for a completely different reason. He made another grab for her, but with his poor coordination she was thankfully able to evade him. If this was his attempt at seducing her, he was failing badly. Even the Marquis of Dansbury was more adept at seduction than Wenford. Much more adept. “What about your nephew?”

  “Randolph?” he growled. “That dim-witted, gambling wretch? Never!” He drew a ragged breath and stumbled against the couch. “Fetch me a cup of tea, girl,” he ordered, sinking down onto the soft cushions. “Show some bloody manners.”

  “Yes, Your Grace.” Finally, a chance to escape! And if he thought she was coming back, he was a complete fool.

  He grabbed her hand as she hurried by. “But first we shall get acquainted.”

  “Your Grace!”

  Jerked off balance, Lilith fell hard against his shoulder. Wenford grabbed her chin and placed another foul kiss on her lips. With his free hand, he ripped open the front of her bodice.

  “Let me go at once!” Truly frightened now, she struggled to her feet. He pushed upright after her and tangled his hand into her hair to yank her back up against him.

  “Cooperate a little, damn you,” he grunted, pawing her breasts through her thin shift.

  “Let me go at once, or I will scream!” She shoved against his shoulder. No one had ever touched her like this, and she had no idea what to do. If she called Bevins, there would be a terrible scandal, but if she didn’t, Wenford’s actions left little doubt as to what he had in mind. She took a breath.

  “Scream, little spitfire,” he droned. “Then we’ll see wh—”

  The duke suddenly gagged and doubled over. When he straightened again, his face had turned a ghastly ashen gray. He clutched at her shoulder, and then, with a rasping wheeze, collapsed. His weight knocked Lilith backward onto the couch—and then the duke fell full length on top of her.

  Lilith desperately punched and kicked at him. “Get off me!”

  It took her a moment to realize that he wasn’t moving.

  “Get off!” Nothing. “Your Grace?” No answer. “Your Grace, get off. Please!”

  She received no response to that, either. With a shudder of distaste, Lilith grabbed a handful of his gray hair and lifted his head off her shoulder and neck. His eyes and mouth were half open, a thin froth of spittle around his lips. She shoved with all her might, but only succeeded in further tangling his limp hand into her hair.

  Lilith reached up to grasp the back of the couch and tried to pull herself out from under Wenford, but he was nearly twice her weight, and she couldn’t budge herself an inch—which left her three choices. Call Bevins and risk an even more enormous scandal, or hope Wenford rose from whatever stupor he had fallen into and that he would climb off her before she smothered. Or, she could lie there beneath the duke until her family returned home, and hope that no one opened the door to the morning room until then.

  The door rattled and opened.

  “It’s no worry, Bevins, I’ll only be a moment,” came the deep voice of the Marquis of Dansbury. “William made off with one of my gloves. I’m certain he left it in here.”

  Lilith shut her eyes, a wave of hysteria running over her. She prayed fervently that he wouldn’t notice anything.

  “Miss Benton? Your Grace?” he called. “I hope I’m not…” His voice trailed off. “Anyone here?” he asked. “Children, servants, small animals?” He chuckled. “Ladybirds? High flyers?”

  “Go away,” she said succinctly.

  His footsteps approached the couch and then abruptly stopped. “My apologies, Wenford, Miss Benton,” he said after a moment, an odd edge to his voice. The footsteps turned away again.

  “Stop!” she ordered frantically. He couldn’t possibly mean to leave her there!

  He stopped. “Yes, my lady?”

  “Come back here and assist me, at once!”

  A pause. “Assist you?”

  “Immediately!” She held her breath, praying now that he had barged in, the devil wouldn’t abandon her.

  “I had no idea you were so adventurous, Miss Benton,” he said coolly, both his footsteps and the hard cynicism in his voice returning. “I think I should tell you, though, I generally don’t share.” Jack Faraday’s face appeared over the back of the couch. His dark eyes met hers, his expression unreadable. “However, in this instance…” Abruptly he frowned and reached down to put his fingers across the duke’s neck. “Sweet Lucifer,” he murmured.

  She took a breath. “Is he…” Lilith couldn’t finish the sentence. It was too terrible to utter aloud.

  “Dead as mutton,” Dansbury stated calmly. “Hopped the twig. Put to bed with a shovel. Tipped all—”

  “Enough!” she demanded frantically. “Help me!”

  The marquis strode around the front of the couch, leaned over to take Wenford around the waist, and hauled backward. “So this is why you decided to forgo Billington’s,” he grunted. The duke slid off her and onto the floor, landing with a dull thud. “You might have told me I was merely too young for your taste. If I’d known you preferred old men, I might have powdered my hair.”

  “I would only have found you old and loathsome,” Lilith snapped, as she shakily climbed to her feet. Her heart hammering fiercely, she swayed unsteadily.

  Suddenly the marquis was beside her, cupping her elbow in one hand. “Perhaps you should take a seat,” he suggested quietly.

  Her legs did feel terribly weak, and she didn’t object when Dansbury’s strong, warm hands guided her to the chair by the window and helped her into it. She shut her eyes, and his touch left her. No doubt the blackguard had fled out to the streets to shout his news to anyone who would listen.

  “Here, Lilith,” he said from right beside her.

  Her eyes snapped open. Dansbury was squatting beside her, a glass of brandy in one hand and his eyes on her face. With a shuddering glance at the figure sprawled on the carpet, she took a long, grateful swallow.

  “Better?” he asked after a moment.

  Sputtering from the strong drink, she nodded.

  “Not injured?”

  “No. Are you certain he’s…deceased?”

  Dansbury nodded and stood. “Terribly sorry,” he uttered, shifting the curtains aside to glance outside, “but you really should have known better.”

  “Better than what?” she returned, scowling at the sarcasm in his voice.

  “Better than to throw up your heels for someone in such poor physical condition before you got him caught in the parson’s mousetrap.”

  “Caught in the…” she repeated, her shock swiftly turning to anger.

  He nodded. “Didn’t your mother ever tell you to wed them before you bed them?”

  Lilith stood bolt upright, her face flooding with furious crimson. “I did not—I was not—I had nothing to do with—”

  “And here I was beginning to think you truly didn’t care for Wenford. Good show, Lil,” he interrupted, folding his arms across his chest, his expression distant. “I hadn’t realized that any old pot would do, so long as he claimed a dukedom.”

  Though she was tempted to throw her brandy at him, Lilith carefully set down the glass before she stalked up to him. “The Duke of Wenford barged into this house, chased me while I went looking for a chaperon, and then attacked me. If you are so obtuse as to think I would welcome that…that lunatic’s amorous attentions, then you are an even greater oaf than I believed! And I gave you no leave to use my Christian name!”

  Dansbury looked at her assessingly. “Rather bold of you to rail at someone who holds your reputation in his hands—Miss Benton.”

  Lilith bit back a retort and eyed the tall scoundrel closely. “Are you threatening something?”

  He shook his head and glanced over at Wenford. “Just an observation.” He sighed, the picture of put-upon integrity. “Because to be honest, I don’t exactly wish to be associated with this myself.”

  “No one asked you,” she shot.

  The marquis gave a slow, dry smile.
“I seem to recall some sort of plea for assistance.”

  “Then just leave,” she said testily, feeling faint again. “I certainly don’t wish to inconvenience you by asking for any further aid.”

  The smile became genuinely amused. “Ah, playing on my sense of honor, are you? Not too wise a stratagem, considering you’ve informed me on several occasions that I have none.” She began to argue, but he raised a hand. “On the slight chance that I am able to summon some sort of propriety,” he continued after a moment, his eyes studying hers, “what would you ask of me?”

  Lilith sat again, disguising her relief. Dead men in the morning room had never appeared in any of her aunt’s lessons in etiquette. It seemed much more in the realm of Dansbury’s experience. “I really have no idea,” she confessed. “I don’t see what else to do but call for the watch. One cannot hide the death of the Duke of Wenford.” Papa would be devastated, and there would be a horrid scandal, but at least she wouldn’t be found trapped beneath His Grace. She did owe Jack Faraday for that.

  “Hm,” the marquis said thoughtfully, “I wonder.”

  Lilith frowned. “About what?”

  “About whether it matters where, exactly, Old Hatchet Face expired.”

  Lilith’s muddled brain refused to travel beyond the body on the floor and how her father would react. He would say that she was behaving just as her mother had, that she was a trollop and had intentionally encouraged Wenford’s amorous attentions.

  “Please explain,” she requested, putting a hand to her throbbing head.

  “I mean that perhaps Wenford might be placed elsewhere, and left for someone else to…discover.”

  She looked at him suspiciously. It was a good thing she knew that Jack Faraday couldn’t be trusted. “This is very gallant of you, my lord. I’m surprised you’re willing to go to such lengths to protect my honor.” She folded her hands daintily in her lap. “If it is my honor you are concerned with.”